Feb
9
Spiro-graphic Blessings.
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I always picture myself as the mama bird, keeping the nest and preparing the food (thank God I don’t have to chew it up for everyone, He knows I would swallow and the nestlings would starve), going from one mama activity to the next, doing what needs to be done at the very moment it needs doing. That was my picture of me, pre- Grace Performs Ice Acrobatics incident.
Resigning my self to sitting positions for more hours that my mom-mode formerly allowed has been a humbling and startling experience. Having previously thought of myself as a fairly grateful person, I now see there were a few things I took for granted. Little things like standing, walking and bending over. But, the movement I took for granted the most is the “flit”.
Flit - Definition accroding to the American Heritage Dictionary
flit (flĭt)
intr.v. flit·ted, flit·ting, flits
- 1. To move about rapidly and nimbly.
- 2. To move quickly from one condition or location to another.
n. - 1. A fluttering or darting movement.
- 2. Informal An empty-headed, silly, often erratic person.
I admit it. I flit. I am a flitter. I don’t flutter - that would be like flitter, but much more graceful, no, I definitely flit. Flutters look similar to butterflies. Flitters look a little like butterflies, but fatter and jerkier. I tried to find a picture of a flitter to post here, but I couldn’t. I think they are few and hard to photograph because of the jerkiness. We are an endangered species so to speak.
This realization that I “flit”, or used to, has brought with it a very alarming realization. Not only do I physically flit, I mentally flit. Let’s stop here and make sure you read that right. I said “flit“, not “fit“. If I would have said “fit“, some might find me to be untruthful.
I flit daily from the washer to the stove, from the back porch to the garage, from the bathroom to the car. I flit all day long and then I complain about how tired I am.
I do not physically flit because I am hyperactive or full of energy (that would be way cool). No, I flit because I am confused, I think… Yes, confused, short-sighted, disorganized. Flitty-brained. Flitty- minded.
This is a devastating reality I have come to considering I have always preferred to think of myself as the “idea person”, the “think of everything person”. I thought I had a special turbo-brain. I knew I ran in circles a lot, I just didn’t know it was my fault. I didn’t realize I thought in Spiro-graphic thoughts, vs. nice linear thoughts.
I feel really bad that I used to complain about my flittery. “Why am I the only one that picks up, cleans up, folds up, cooks up, finds, shines and hears the whines?” My crutches and I miss flitting.
I miss being able to throw the spaghetti sauce together, fold the laundry, set the VCR (yes, they still exist and we are the most techno out dated people in town), look for lost shoes and talk on the phone, effortlessly at the same time, without worrying about how I am going to manage carrying the boiling pot of pasta from the stove to the sink to drain, and hold onto both crutches (you can’t, it is impossible, I tried…).
Yes, my hands are full of crutches, and to simply stir the sauce takes great foresight and planning. I must plan where I am going to lean my left crutch so that I can have one hand free (and the place I pick to lean the crutch must be obvious so I don’t lose it again), hang on tight to my right crutch, keep my right knee lifted and bent so my foot doesn’t touch the floor and I become accidentally tempted to put weight on it, and then use my non-dominant left hand to stir with (that I assure you is a feat unto itself). Yes, stirring is now a multi-step process that requires wise planning.
This is a challenge for my flitty brain, especially the tiny details that come with the planning, like remembering to grab a spoon as I walk past the silverware drawer, before I get to the stove and prepare to stir the sauce. I flit because I don’t think right. Back and forth trips that could have been avoided and saved me time. I could very well be the first person to ever lose weight (please God, please), moving so slowing with crutches, because I make so many unnecessary tracks, back and forth.
My husband was so kind last night while we were watching that new game show, 1 vs. 100. “Here, let me get that for you.” “What do you need? I’ll get it.” Nice, nice, nice, and I had to stop myself from glaring at him! “I” am the flitter! Not “you”. I flit, you sit. I found myself flabbergastedly surprised that I was thinking such thoughts, and if I am not mistaken, I think it was just one week ago that I was planning the sit down the whole family and tell them I am sick of doing everything myself meeting. Does anyone know what I want or what will make me happy??? Please tell me if you do. Really, email me.
So now I publicly and officially apologize for the complaints about flittering, and I assume all responsibility for said flittering. I promise to always remember to be grateful for my mobility, especially when it applies to the mundane tasks of mothering, wifery, housery (is that a word?), and life tasks in general.
I will be so grateful that a glow will emanate from me, harp music will be heard everywhere I go, and I will seemingly float about, washing dishes, clothes, walls and windows with a grateful smile on my glowy face. Forever and ever. Forever. At least all of the rest of this year. Okay, the entire first month, week, day after I am healed.
I’ll be grateful for as long as my flitty brain remembers. But, I’ll be forever grateful for my flitty brain . Having a brain that flits, makes one have thousands of ideas and feel oh, so, creatively smart. It helped me see that what I was complaining about were really just blessings.
Ask your brain if it is flitty or linear (if it isn’t sure, go here- http://wannabe.guru.org/lynn/apps/ , if you have way too much fun, you are flitty) and then ask yourself what blessings you complain about. Open Word, type them in, read them and then plant a kiss right on your monitor, tell them you love them and will quit complaining, at least for today, this hour, the moment. Now click on File, Save As, type in Mundane Stuff which are really Blessings that Help Make Live Again Days, and hit save. Now you have a file to help you remember incase you have a flitty brain like me.
Livin’ live again days!
Filed Under Live-Again-Blessings | 5 Comments
Feb
6
“Break a Leg!” means “Good Luck”?
Filed Under Live-Again-Blessings | 10 Comments
I am not sure if this is ironic, if it was just destined to be or both. I was writing the introductory entry for LiveAgainDays blog when I decided to take a break before editing and make a quick trip to Wal-Mart. Thus, began the saga that will now and forever be remembered as the Grace Performs Ice Acrobatics incident. I played the part of Grace.
It was early in the morning and I could see that my car windows were frosty. I decided to run outside (coat-less, of course), start the car so it would defrost while I was making myself Wal-Mart presentable (I know you are laughing, there really isn’t a Wal-Mart dress code). Sadly, I only made it one step outside our front door when my foot slipped on the iced over step and my right leg preformed amazing acrobatic twists that until that moment I had no idea it was capable of. After gasping in amazement, I completed my performance by landing on my graceful right leg, smashing it between my backside and the edge of the concert step. Ta-dah!
There was no applause, just some crackly, crunching, ripping sounds from my leg and a heavy sigh and moaning from my mouth. I knew I had done something terribly wrong.
After sitting on the icy step for twenty minutes or so, desperately trying to will myself into a whole and healthy state, I crawled/slithered/drug myself back into the house where my lovely family was still nestled warmly in there beds. I laid on the living room floor, wet from too much ice sitting, and waited for my lovelies to wake. I really didn’t want to scream and wake the whole house up- that would have scared them- and I am just nice that way.
Throughout my wait, the initial huge volts of pain subsided and I was able to convince myself that I had just pulled some muscles, twisted some ligaments and I was just going to be A-Okay. I was convinced too, until I tried to pull myself up to a standing position, only to find that I couldn’t make my poor right leg do what I wanted it to do. At this point I experienced the kind of pain that starts in the tip of your right big toe, violently washes up through your whole entire body and spews itself out through your clinched teeth.
Back down to the living room floor I went. Fast. At almost that precise moment (must have been a psychic connection thing), I heard dear hubby Mark rousing in our bedroom. My heart started racing in anticipation of my impending rescue! Next I heard the bedroom door opening and man-sized rescue hero footsteps in the hallway.
My stupid, silly, unknowing husband called out “Good Morning!” Ha! I thought, “You wish buddy. I think I just ruined the day for both of us.”
I was so very brave. I didn’t cry at all when I sat on the ice for twenty minutes, breath knocked out of my lungs, rubbing boo-boos and wiping blood off my shin with my spit covered finger. But now that hubby was awake and I was coming to grips with the fact that my leg was really, really hurt, I knew that I could be weak and girly.
Mark looked down the steps at me through his sleep-crusted eyes, with his rooster look-a-like bed head hair-do. I could read his mind. He was thinking, “Why is Kelly laying like that on the living room floor?” Oh, he was so not awake yet and I knew that the information his eyes were sending to his brain was not processing correctly. So now in my vulnerable, I think I broke my leg state, all I could say with my trembling, trying not to cry voice was, “Mark, I don’t wanna have a broken leg.”
Mark woke up quickly then and announced officially that we were going to the hospital. I did the only thing I could do at that point and agreed to go while reassuring him, and myself, that I had only pulled muscles. I am a good wishful thinker.
Mark began trying to get me in an upright position when the true horror hit me. The one thing that has been drummed into all of us since toddler hood… I had just had an accident, I was going to the hospital, and not only did I not have on CLEAN underwear, I had on NO underwear. Remember the dreams you had about being out in public, realizing that you were naked and trying to get back home without anyone seeing you naked? That was the panic and terror I felt upon realizing I didn’t have underwear on.
What you must know is that I had gotten up very early that morning and quickly threw on some comfy, cozy sweats to piddle around the house in. No one else was awake. It was just me and my quiet house. So, there really was no reason at all for underwear. Going “free-style” is what it is called. I personally could care less whether one chooses to free-style/not free-style; it doesn’t matter to me. I had planned to put panties on while the car was warming up, because I was going to Wal-Mart, and we all know Wal-Mart has a strict dress code.
“Honey, I need a pair of white, hospital worthy panties please”.
Mark quickly ran for the panties and then stood guard making sure the sleeping 14 year olds didn’t wake (we had a sleep over friend), only to be scarred at the sight of me withering about the floor, trying to lasso a leg I could not bend with a pair of panties. I would have been mortified if they had seen me. Plus, I would have never been able to enforce the always wear clean underwear rule!
Now fully dressed and hospital appropriate, Mark was finally able to help to the car (well actually, Mark was able to watch me side craw through the house, garage and across the drive way, making sure I didn’t hurt further hurt myself).
An hour after crashing on my front steps we arrived at the emergency room where I was presented with a wheel chair to ride in. Three hours after arriving at the hospital, and two photo shots in radiology, the results were in and my right leg was voted Ms. Proximal Fibula Fracture of the Day. This title was not bestowed upon me with a crown, banner or even roses. Instead, I was presented with a pair of shinny crutches which will be the death of me yet (you can admire them in the picture above)!
So, what does breaking a leg have to do with good luck or anything good at all???
It’s all about the love! When you are down and hurt, you find out who will drop everything and meet you in the ER to make sure you are all right (thanks mom and dad). And, even though cell phone service is blocked in the ER, when you leave you can look at the list of everyone that tried to call and make sure you were doing okay. Yes, it’s all about feelin’ the luv!
Today as I write, it is one day after the Grace Performs Ice Acrobatics incident. Joshua, Seth and Micah (sons #1, #3 and #4), Amanda (Son#1’s wife) and my grandson extraordinaire, Colten, are with me at home. Caleb, who is son #2, is sick with the flu at his house. I am being waited upon and nursed back to full recovery. Seth and Micah awoke earlier than usual this morning to see how I was doing, Joshua and Amanda arrive with food and candy, and my coffee mug has been kept full the entire day as we have talked and laughed and watched TV. together. The phone keeps ringing with offers of help and wishes for wellness. All this attention did more than take my mind of the occasional throb of my leg, and the occasional annoyance I felt at being told to sit still. It makes me feel warm and fuzzy inside. It makes me feel loved.
As you think about the possibilities of breaking your leg one day (God forbid!), you might wonder about who would be there for you. Who would fetch you hospital worthy underwear, who would show up at the hospital eager to sign your cast, who would worry about waiting on you so you wouldn’t overdo, who would call throughout the day just to see if you needed anything?
The bigger question to me is who would I show up for? The list is pretty long, but, is it long enough? Could that list of friends ever be long enough?
Who’s on your list? Go ahead, write it out and take a peek. Now call, email, write or go visit one of them and tell them that you’ll be right there for them if they ever break their leg! You will both feel good.
Oh, I do wish I had not broken my leg, but, a broken leg definitely has its perks. Having family surround me with care, concern, laughter and love is worth just about anything and everything. And, if that happened to be the price one had to pay to experience that bond, I do believe I would break my leg everyday. Thank God that won’t be necessary!
Oh yes, it was truly another live-again-day.
Let’s live another!
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